


Mistakes

by gonattsaga



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Character Death, Complicated Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Threats of Violence, dubious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 09:30:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3524177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonattsaga/pseuds/gonattsaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not Sebastian Moran's first mistake, but it's definitely his biggest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistakes

It’s not his first mistake.

Back when he was still a new recruit and just a couple of steps above a menial, nameless _pawn_ , he’d been assigned a hit, his second in Jim’s employment but maybe his _one hundred and second_ since he left the army. He’s always been very effective. It’s one of his merits, and the reason he got into Moriarty’s ranks in the first place.

So it shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was just a quiet hit job – or it would have been, _should have been_ – except _Moriarty himself_ was right there, next to the mark, shaking his hand and listening calmly to whatever deal he wanted to make and _waiting_ , waiting for Sebastian to take the hit.

The thing is, Sebastian can hit a major artery of his choice from a distance of several hundred metres _without sniperscope_ , so it really shouldn’t have psyched him out to have his boss standing there next to the mark, it shouldn’t have, but it did. It made him _hesitate_.

He couldn’t hear a thing over the noise of his own blood pumping through him. His heart was hammering painfully hard and then Moriarty glanced over to where he knew Sebastian must be, and there wasn’t a trace of emotion in his face that would give him away _but Sebastian knew_. He was in trouble. He broke out in a cold sweat, and then holding his breath he took the shot.

The mark let out a strangled shout and grabbed his neck in panic before falling to his knees. Blood was gushing from the entry wound and seeping through his pale, fat fingers. Moriarty shut his eyes and took a deep breath, the very picture of annoyance and the more _noise_ the man at his feet made – _gurgling, growling, groaning_ – and the more he wriggled around helplessly and made grabbing gestures at the other man’s pristinely ironed _Westwood_ trousers, the more annoyed he got.

Shit, shit, shit, Sebastian had thought.

“ _Moran!_ ” Moriarty yelled and the _pure, primal rage_ in his voice made Sebastian’s blood _run icy cold_.

He scrambled to his feet in a panic and took the rickety stairs two at a time, hurtling himself into the warehouse and stumbled to a stop at a safe _ish_ distance from his boss, who was by then clearly trying to compose himself again. 

“What”, he hissed. “Did I say, Moran?”

Sebastian gulped, _shit, shit, shit_ , and couldn’t think of a _single fucking thing_ to say.

“ _Sebastian_ ”, Moriarty snapped.

Even though he’d expected it, or worse even, Sebastian still visibly startled and then cringed like a kicked puppy, like _Moriarty’s_ kicked puppy, and a snide inner voice reminded him that _that’s what you are now_ , but he ignored it.

“Y-You said t-to make it, to have it, ehm, t-to make it c-clean and q-quiet, Sir…”

Now, Sebastian has never stuttered a day in his life, _ever_. Not as a child, never. He’d also never been _scared_ of anything or anyone since he was about twelve. But there he was, the very picture of a scared little school boy and shaking all over.  He silently cursed himself, but it didn’t do much other than supply him with a _blush_ as well on top of everything else.

“Right”, Moriarty said in a low voice and his dark eyes had glittered dangerously as he’d seemed to be looking straight into Sebastian’s _very core_. “And _what_ , do you call _this_?”

He indicated the mark with a subtle gesture of his foot, just avoiding making contact and Sebastian remembers thinking he probably would have kicked him if he hadn’t been concerned about _getting blood on his shoe_. He’d automatically glanced down at the dead, _ah shit, still dying_ , business man and winced at his own sloppiness.

Even a sniper takes pride in his work. And there was nothing to be proud if about this job.

Moriarty was watching him closely, his eyes black and wild and a million things ran through Sebastian’s mind, most of it expletives, as he frantically tried to figure out what to do, say, what Moriarty wanted from him now. But Moriarty hadn’t wanted him to _do_ or _say_ anything. What he’d wanted from him was _blood_.

It wasn’t to punish him, Sebastian knows now. Not entirely. If he’d merely wanted to punish Sebastian, then what he ended up doing to him didn’t fit the crime. Although at the time, before he’d got to know Moriarty, Sebastian had no way of knowing that. For all he knew, _gutting you_ might be Moriarty’s equivalent of _a rap on the knuckles_. And judging by the crazed glint in the shorter man’s eyes, it seemed very plausible that that was the case.

Now he knows better, now he knows _Jim_ better. It hadn’t been a punishment, it had been a _lesson_. Sebastian still had the scar. _It’s his favourite._ And he’d learned the lesson too. He’d never fucked up an assignment again. _Well, until now._

And this time, it’s _bad_.

Last time, he’d stood there panting, sweating, stuttering. And Moriarty had glared with barely suppressed rage and screamed and _cut_

But _now_

Everything is quiet. Sebastian barely breathes at all, this time around. He can’t feel his hands or feet or skin, it’s like he’s no longer in his body, he’s just _numb_.

Jim is staring at him. No rage, just empty, painfully empty shock, like he doesn’t even recognise Sebastian anymore. Seeing it, makes the sniper’s chest _clench_ and suddenly his eyes are stinging and Jim looks just as horrified about that as Sebastian feels. He has to look away, and will the blurriness away again. He clears his throat. Then squats down quickly and pulls out his butterfly knife from the holster at his ankle.

Jim tenses automatically, and Sebastian gives him a look that says _Really_?

And the shorter man actually looks a little sheepish, and it’s the first time Sebastian has ever seen that look on the other man’s face. He stomps down the impulse to smirk. _I can die happy now_ , he thinks lightly, and then feels an immediate _pang_ of

He clears his throat again, and takes a deep breath. Then he hands Jim the knife. He doesn’t stand up again, just kneels there in front of the other man. Jim is blinking furiously, the look of alarm on his face deepening as Sebastian tilts his head back slightly, _to look at him, to expose my throat_

“What are you doing?” Jim says and they both pretend not to have noticed the hint of panic in his voice.

“I’ve compromised your safety”, Sebastian says as coolly as he can manage.

“ _Our_ safety”, Jim snaps. “And yes, I know, _thank you!_ Why the hell are you giving me your knife—?”

“I know you prefer them”, Sebastian mumbles.

“—Stand up! _What_? I _prefer_ to not have to handle _any weapons at all_ , that’s what I prefer! Especially ones that are… are… used and filthy and _clammy_ and—“

“Boss”, Sebastian cuts in gently, and they both pretend his voice is as _steady_ as ever.

“No”, Jim snaps back. “Shut up!”

He half-twirls away from Sebastian, frustration clearly clawing at him. He runs his hand through his hair, or _over it_ rather, barely upsetting the carefully glued back slick.

“This is really fucking bad, Sebastian!” he yells shrilly. “Have you _any idea_ —?“

“I do”, Sebastian cuts in.

“ _Shut up!_ ” Jim howls and takes a couple of steps closer to him.

Sebastian instinctively closes his eyes and steels himself, but the strike doesn’t come. There’s no sharp pain, not even a sting.

“ _Don’t_ ”, Jim growls.

He blinks his eyes open again and frowns at the scowling man above him.

“I am not going to _hurt you_ —“

“Yeah, you are”, Sebastian interrupts, _he hates it when people interrupt him,_ and Sebastian has never done it before now. “ _Boss_.”

Jim grabs a fistful of Sebastian’s hair and pulls hard, jerking his head back further. Up close like this, Sebastian can’t focus on anything else but those _dark dark eyes_ , he could fall in, he thinks, just fall in and get lost forever, drown in Jim Moriarty’s eyes, _that’d be a good way to go_

“Listen here, _Moran_ —“

“No”, Sebastian interrupts again. “I fucked up, I fucked up bad, you can’t spare me…”

A hint of pain flickers by in the shorter man’s face and he lets go of Sebastian’s hair again, as if burnt.

“Please, Jim…” Sebastian says, his voice starting to betray him now, there’s a thickness in his throat that is _squeezing_ the sound of it. “It’s okay, just please, make it quick?”

Jim shakes his head quickly twice, like an involuntary spasm of _no, no, no_

“Or don’t. Take all the time you want, but please… _it has to be you._ If you don’t do it now, I’ll do it myself “, Sebastian adds the last part with more conviction than he’s ever felt in his life.

“Don’t even think about it”, Jim demands shrilly.  “This is your mess, Sebastian, you’re going to bloody well _clean it up_!”

Sebastian feels the tension slowly draining out of him and sighs.

“Jim…” he says gently.

 _No_ Jim says and _Jim_ Sebastian says again. They could be here all night. He sighs again, _so tired_ suddenly.

“We both know that you’re not going to let me walk away from this. You might feel like it now, because you… because we… you know. But you can’t, you won’t, and we both know it. Now I am asking you, I’m bloody begging you okay, _please_ don’t let it be anyone else… _Please_. I want it to be you. I want you _here._ ”

“I-I’m sorry”, Jim says and suddenly he seems like a lost little boy and it makes Sebastian shiver unpleasantly. “I can’t…”

 _I don’t like to get my hands dirty_ , but that’s a lie.

That’s how this whole thing started, how _they_ started. Sebastian whimpering and trembling in the shorter man’s surprisingly strong arms as he held and _petted him_ soothingly with his blood smeared hands, both of them soaked with sweat.

When Sebastian had come to in the hospital, Moriarty had been there. He was sitting at his bedside wearing a civilian outfit and watching him with detached, calculating eyes.

“I’m sorry”, Sebastian had said. 

Moriarty had nodded. _All forgiven, fresh start._ And after that, he’d made Sebastian his second in command, just like that.

Jim, as Sebastian gradually came to think of him as whenever they were alone, _probably my second mistake all things considered_ , seemed to relax whenever Sebastian moved a little closer to his side, and he seemed to turn slightly _into_ him instead of _away_ when he got perhaps a little too close.

They never touched. They never even spoke. But there was a glint in Jim’s eyes whenever they’d lock with Sebastian’s and every so often he’d search him out unconsciously, just to make sure that he was still there, _close_ , not because Jim, _or rather Moriarty_ , couldn’t take care of himself. Far from it. So it didn’t really make any sense at all. Except, somehow it did. It did make sense _to Sebastian at least_.

Jim wants him, wants _more_ from him; that’s what all those looks had been about, the subtle fidgeting, steadily getting closer and closer, working up to _actually touching_ , and it’s been an achingly slow dance, but Sebastian knows better than to push, or even pull, has just been waiting the other man out, knowing they’d get there in the end

_Except now we won’t_

"It wasn’t supposed to go like this”, Jim says now and there’s a whine in his voice, but just as he says it Sebastian realises _yeah, it was, it probably always was somehow_ and he tells Jim this and earns a back-handed slap across the face, _it barely stings, he’s pulling his punches, of course he is_

“No, really”, he says, “We’ve come sort of full circle, you know? It’s almost poetic… I think…”

“Well, don’t!” Jim snaps. “Just shut up and do as you’re told, and leave the thinking to those of us with the intellectual capacity to get it right!”

He tosses the butterfly knife to the side. It clatters to the floor after bouncing off the back of the arm chair. For a deranged second Sebastian thinks _I’ll miss that knife_ , but then he looks at Jim again and gets his priorities back in order.

Jim doesn’t want him gone, Sebastian gets that. And it makes his chest swell and his belly flutter, but it’s not as simple as that. _Jim_ isn’t as simple as that. He hasn’t revealed a lot of himself or his background, but Sebastian has pieced together enough pieces to know that the man had a dark void inside of him, _a black hole_ around which circles galaxies of thoughts and emotions and impulses and ideas and needs, all complex and contradictory, all the time, and always at the risk of getting _sucked in_. There’s a war raging inside of him, and Jim has to constantly _explode_ before he _implodes_.

Sebastian knows that he’s one of the few that’s come remotely close to the other man, _and now I have to get sucked in too_ , he thinks and he’s not sure if he’s bitter or honoured or both.

He has to die. There’s no way around it. Even Jim knows that deep down, but he can’t bring himself to face up to it or even face it. It will be one of the others, they’ll break into Sebastian’s current flat and put a bullet in his head, or strangle him with his phone charger chord, and it will be messy but quick and he probably won’t feel much, but it will be dark and cold, _flat is so_ fucking _cold, been meaning to have a word with the landlady_ , and lonely. Most of all, it will be lonely.

And Jim will pretend it’s not happened at all. Sebastian will just be gone one day, _gone, missing, who knows where he went to, he’s not answering texts, might as well delete his number then_ , and eventually, _might as well delete_ him _altogether_. And Sebastian knows it shouldn’t matter, _won’t_ matter to him. He’ll be dead, after all. But thinking about it _now_ … it’s the closest he’s ever, _will ever_ , come to a heartbreak. _No, I’m sorry, I can’t have that._

Possibly, Jim can see it on his face because he tenses up slightly and then Sebastian pulls his Beretta and meets his _fucking doe eyes_ and takes a fraction of a moment to marvel at how they widen and silently asks him for forgiveness before putting the gun in his mouth. The steel is heavy against his tongue. It takes like blood.

“No—!“

He’s aware of Jim snatching at his wrist, but Sebastian is the quickest, _classiest_ sniper in the world since his third hit for Moriarty and it only takes a _gentle squeeze_

 

 

 

 


End file.
